


On Transmutation (and Tortoises)

by Vermin_Disciple



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1850s, 19th Century, Evolution, Evolutionary theory, Gen, Humor, Ineffability, Natural Selection, Wordcount: 500-1.000, tortoises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-30
Updated: 2011-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-25 02:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermin_Disciple/pseuds/Vermin_Disciple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>c. 1859. In which Aziraphale reads the latest bestseller, and he and Crowley take a trip to the Galapagos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Transmutation (and Tortoises)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [anthean](http://anthean.livejournal.com/), who requested " _Aziraphale in history, any time period you like, but must include a turtle._ " I cheated, since this technically involves a tortoise. This is slightly modified from the original version, which can be found [here](http://vermin-disciple.livejournal.com/210270.html).

  


"Not very bright, are they?"

"Hmm?" said Aziraphale, looking up from the signed 1st edition he'd been poring over. Earlier, Crowley had taken a moment to sneer at the book's contents, and was now feigning disinterest. Or so Aziraphale assumed. Well, he wouldn't have agreed to this sojourn in the Galapagos if he'd been _really_ disinterested.

Crowley gestured with his wine glass. A few feet away, a massive turtle was eying them with what Aziraphale chose to interpret as reptilian curiosity.

"Oh," he said. The turtle tilted its head and continued staring.

Apart from the turtle, they were entirely alone, seated at a table that had not existed an hour ago. The atmosphere was serene in a way that seemed designed to make Crowley fidget. Aziraphale had wondered, absently, what he was brooding over that had kept him quiet for so long.

"Have you been listening to a word I've said?"

"I do apologize, my dear fellow," said Aziraphale, not feeling particularly contrite. It wasn’t polite, of course, but then again, it usually wasn't a good idea to listen _too_ closely to everything Crowley said. One often got oneself into trouble that way. "But it is rather engrossing. Quite ingenious, really."

"It's bollocks," said Crowley.

"Well, yes," said Aziraphale. "Nevertheless, it is quite remarkable."

Crowley snatched the book out of his hands. "'Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life'" – quite dramatic, aren't they, these natural philosophers. Do you remember that night in Pella with Aristotle and—"

"Quite," said Aziraphale, frowning at the memory.

"That's right," said Crowley, giving him a rather fiendish grin. "You never did like Macedon."

"I love all of His children equally," said Aziraphale, bristling. Though really, the way the Macedonians spoke Greek should have been considered a venial sin at least. "The borders of nations and empires are irrelevant to us."

"I'll bet," said Crowley, in Macedonian.

Aziraphale suppressed a shudder. "Anyway, what were you saying about the turtle?"

"Tortoise."

"Tortoise?"

"It's a tortoise, not a turtle," said Crowley helpfully.

"So I'd gathered. But how do _you_ know that it is, as you say, a tortoise?"

"I've read his other book," said Crowley, handing _On the Origin of Species_ back to him. "It didn't weigh as much."

The tortoise – née turtle – meanwhile, had lost interest in them and lumbered off to gulp down water from a nearby stream.

"Apparently they're good for a fry-up, and the babies make a nice soup," Crowley continued, sipping his wine. "He also says they're difficult to ride."*

"Ride?"

"Ride."

Crowley topped off both their glasses, and they sat in silence for a few moments, no doubt contemplating the unfathomable mysteries of naturalists and tortoises.

Once his glass had been emptied yet again, Crowley said, "I suppose I will have to encourage it."

"Riding tortoises?" asked Aziraphale. That was low even by Crowley's somewhat lapsed demonic standards.

"No," said Crowley, rolling his eyes, "I meant this natural selection lark."

"Ah. I take it you haven't received any, er, _communications_ , then?"

Crowley shook his head. "Have your lot developed a policy about it yet?"

"No," said Aziraphale. "I think they expect it to all blow over soon enough."

"It's a bit persistent, though, isn't it? This transmutation of species nonsense. How long has it been since that French bloke with the giraffes?"

"Giraffes?

"Oh, you know," said Crowley, waving an eloquent hand. "A big spotty mammal stretches its neck to reach the trees, and so its children have longer necks. A few generations later – presto! Giraffes. Inheritance of acquired whatsits."

Comprehension dawned. "Oh, yes. A fellow called Lamarck, I believe. Inheritance of acquired characteristics," said Aziraphale. "But this is a bit more sophisticated, I must say. It's all very – logical, really. It makes a good deal of sense. He has this idea about finches that's really quite—"

"It's all well and good talking about birds and tortoises, but what does he say about _them_? That's what people – including ours – are going to be concerned about."

"He's a bit reticent on the subject."

"I expect I'd be a bit reticent about telling people their grandfathers were monkeys."

"That's not how it works." He paused. "Er, is it?"

"Obviously not. _We_ know how it works. We were _there_."

"I meant hypothetically."

Again they lapsed into thoughtful silence.

"I do wonder though," said Crowley, watching the tortoise disappear off to wherever it was tortoises went, " _why_ it makes so much sense. This idea of his. I mean, why give them all this evidence that leads them to the wrong conclusion. Makes you wonder what He's playing at."

"I really couldn't say," said Aziraphale. "It serves some Ineffable purpose, I suppose. Freedom of thought and choice and belief and all that. Best not to—"

"—question it. Yeah, I thought you might say that."

Aziraphale smiled, a bit sheepishly. "Shall we head back to town, my dear? Find something to eat, perhaps?"

"Alright," said Crowley, rising to his feet and stretching. Crowley had a sense that this was not the last time they would have this conversation – the subject was bound to impose itself on human affairs from time to time – but he was happy to let it drop, for now. It was giving him a headache.

"As long as it's not tortoise," he added.

 _Finis_

 

*   
Charles Darwin, _The Voyage of the Beagle_ : 

_The inhabitants believe that these animals are absolutely deaf; certainly they do not overhear a person walking close behind them. I was always amused when overtaking one of these great monsters, as it was quietly pacing along, to see how suddenly, the instant I passed, it would draw in its head and legs, and uttering a deep hiss fall to the ground with a heavy sound, as if struck dead. I frequently got on their backs, and then giving a few raps on the hinder part of their shells, they would rise up and walk away; — but I found it very difficult to keep my balance._[Back]


End file.
